


Will our world come tumbling down

by Talokina



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A Game of Tropes, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Vampire AU, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talokina/pseuds/Talokina
Summary: „Holy shit.” Hank mutters and you share the sentiment. You thought that deviants were the real deal, but nothing could have prepared you for the view of Connor with red eyes, red LED and red blood-stained lips. “Fucking vampire androids.”





	1. A fateful case

“Drop the knife.” you command the android, your gun pointed at his head. The cooking android only grips the knife harder, waving it dangerously close to the famous restaurant chef’s head it’s holding hostage in the restaurant’s now abandoned kitchen. When you got called for an android case in one of Detroit’s fanciest restaurants, you didn’t expect to find a deviant. From the corner of your eye you see Hank, his weapon also drawn and Connor, who’s closest to the deviant and the hostage.

“This must not end in a tragedy.” Connor tries to reassure the deviant. “You can still continue to cook.”

“You don’t understand!” the deviant sounds frantic and the hand holding the knife shivers dangerously. “Cooking is all I live for, it’s my passion. I thought that the chef appreciated my talent. But he only exploited me. When I created new recipes, he declared that he was the creator, and dismissed me as nothing more than another cooking tool!” It screams the last two words and his other hand squeezes the chef’s throat.

“Calm down. There is a problem in your software. We just want to help you.” Connor explains, his voice smooth. Androids are not supposed to feel, yet this cooking android feels passion and right now, anger.

“No! Don’t take my passion for cooking, it’s all I am! I’d rather die before you take it away!” At the deviant’s words, you exchange a worried glance with Hank. You both know from the Ortiz case that androids can self-destruct.

“Just think about all the recipes you can no longer create if you’re dead.” you reason and the deviant’s attention completely shifts towards you. You’ve almost missed it, but Connor has approached the deviant. You just have to keep the deviant distracted.

“A new mousse, a new ice cream flavor, a new pie, the possibilities are endless.” you continue to say. The deviant nods absentmindedly and its small smile feels like a stab to your heart. “Androids deserve to live just like we do.” a small voice inside of you hisses, but you dismiss it for now.

Before you can continue to list desserts, Connor has tackled the deviant. The deviant slashes at Connor but misses him and instead hits the chef’s arm. It violently pushes the chef against the kitchen island, his head hitting the marble with a loud thud and continues to attack Connor. You wish you could shoot it, but Connor and the deviant are always on the move, dodging and parrying, so you fear that you might hurt Connor.

Connor has finally managed to back the deviant into a table when the deviant, in a desperate attempt, waits for Connor to close in and then throws the knife. Connor dodges as fast as he can, but the knife sinks in near his clavicle and you gasp. Two gunshots fill the silence and the deviant sinks down, its LED blinking red.

While Hank kneels down near the unconscious chef, you rush towards Connor. The knife has sunk deep in and his white shirt is turning blue.

“Too close to the Thirium pump.” Connor says between choppy breaths and you understand. He’s leaning against an oven, no longer able to stand, and you wrap your hands around the blue-stained knife. In one swift move, you pull it out and throw it on the ground.

“Thirium loss becomes critical. Must find replacement.” Connor looks around in the kitchen, and his wild gaze lands on the chef. His LED shines red and you start to panic. With a last desperate effort, he pushes himself off the oven and steps towards the chef, sinking down. He covers the bleeding wound of the chef with both of his hands and then brings them towards his mouth, eagerly licking off the blood.

„Holy shit.” Hank mutters and you share the sentiment. You thought that deviants were the real deal, but nothing could have prepared you for the view of Connor with red eyes, red LED and red blood-stained lips. “Fucking vampire androids.”

Connor clears his throat. “System is repaired.” he comments as if this would have been normal.  A knock on the door rips you away from the sight of Connor and prevents any further questions.  

“Can we enter?” you hear one of the police officers ask and panic floods your body. They must not see Connor like this. You take your scarf and kneel next to Connor, wiping away the traces of blood from his lips. His red stare is fixed on you and you muster all your concentration on the task instead of the sensation of your fingers almost touching his lips.

“Close your eyes.” you whisper slowly, and he obeys. The police officers fill the room. Most of them only spare one glance on the dead android, instead focusing on the still unconscious chef.  

“(Y/n).” Hanks says calmly, too calm. “Take Connor and get out of here. I’ll handle the rest.” You nod, grateful for the cover he’s offering. You both stand up and Connor’s frame leans onto you. You try hard to control your pace, so it doesn’t look like fleeing and you suppress a sigh of relief when you’re finally outside.

“Connor, can you call a cab?” you ask and the android nods, his eyes still closed. If the police officers outside find the sight of an android leaning onto a human weird, they don’t say anything. The cab arrives quickly, and you help Connor enter.

The ride to your apartment is silent. Androids riding together with humans in a cab has become usual, but you notice the occasional judging stares from the cab driver. You want to talk about what just happened, but you know that the recent events must not be talked about in public. It could put Connor in danger.

The cab comes smoothly to a halt and you pay your trip before leaving. Connor manages to leave without help. After checking for people, you let out a deep breath.

“Connor, you can open your eyes now.” The android does as told and fortunately, they’re brown again. Not wasting any time, you walk to the main door of the apartment and unlock it. You opt for the stairs, not in the mood for another awkward silence in the old and slow elevator. As you arrive at the right floor, now standing in front of your apartment door, a low chuckle of Connor makes you turn around.

“Excellent detective. You needed less time to take the stairs than the average human would have. This means you’re in perfect shape.”

You suppress a smile. “It’s nice to know that you’re worried about my health.”

“Of course I am.” At Connor’s words and the seriousness in his voice, you turn around to face him. “I worry about your and Hank’s health. It’s good to know that you’re living a better life than the Lieutenant.” You could have sworn that you heard a slight contempt for Hank’s unhealthy life style, but you chose not to dwell on it. Sometimes the humanity – although you know that humanity is a big word to describe his behavior – of Connor really surprises you.

You immediately feel more relaxed as you enter your apartment. Always saving a part of your pocket money and working in a diner have made this small but charming apartment you gladly call your home possible. Through the small hall, you cross the living room to get to the kitchen and take something to drink. As the cold orange juice runs down your throat, you feel Connor’s stare on you, scanning your face and your throat. He knows that you’ve noticed him, but he doesn’t stop. Odd, you think, fighting the urge to play with your hair.

After you put the orange juice back in the fridge, you reach for your favorite chocolate bar and you can see the scowl on Connor’s face.

“Yes I know, orange juice is healthy, chocolate isn’t, but chocolate is my comfort food and I love it.” you say, anticipating Connor’s speech.

“Chocolate has always been a favorite sweet among children and adults.” Connor states lost in thought.

“Yes, and I love everything sweet.” You have such a sweet tooth that your grandmother used to say that you didn’t have a sweet tooth, but a whole sweet mouth. Connor is still looking pensive, his hands in his pockets, and you’re quite sure that one of them is fidgeting with his coin.

“Connor, if you could eat, what would you first try out?” you blurt out this personal question, capturing the android’s attention.

“I think I would like something sweet.” His answer makes you smile and for a moment, you wish you could share the chocolate with Connor, that he could taste it and tell you his opinion.

A loud thud startles you and draws your attention away from Connor and the chocolate. The downside of the building is that the walls are relatively thin. So far, you’ve never had any problems. But the faint shouting you hear makes you suspicious. Connor’s head is slightly tilted, focused on the source of the noise. The sound of shattering glass is followed by another round of screaming and you decide that this is enough. You move towards the entrance door, Connor behind you, and move to the apartment left to you.

You ring the bell and wait. Nothing. You ring again and knock on the door. Still no reaction.

“Detroit police. Open up!” you command. Pressing your ear against the door, you hear hushed talking.

“Pardon me.” Connor says, gently but resolutely pushes you away and with one swift and well-aimed kick, he opens the door. You could have done the same, but allow Connor his chivalry, which you secretly find endearing.

You enter and the first thing you notice is the blue handprint on the white wall. You draw your weapon and enter the living room, where the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes penetrates your nose.

As you slowly step inside, a suppressed moan coming from the couch catches your attention. You follow the noise and find an android lying on the floor, blue blood staining the uniform, its hand failing to cover an abdominal wound, the red LED a stark contrast against the ashen face. Out of reflex, you take a towel from the table nearby and kneel down to press it against the wound.

“She blames me for everything.” the android, a male AP700, whispers weakly. “I tried to reason with her, but she didn’t listen.” Connor kneels down on the other side, his LED blinking blue and orange.

“Stay here, I’ll scan the rest of the apartment.” you say, heading towards the bedroom. You also want to leave the androids some privacy. You’re no expert on robotics, but it doesn’t look good for the android. From the corner of the eye, you see Connor staring intently at it, surely analyzing the wounds.

Nobody jumps at you or tries to rush past you after opening the bedroom door, but you stay alert. On your way through the room, you move carefully through a mess of dirty clothes and empty alcohol bottles. Anti-android posters hang on the walls and you can’t help but roll your eyes. On the nightstand near the bed lie unopened letters from the national Detroit bank. Looking more closely, you see red crumbles on it, surely red ice.

The feeling when two hands wrap around your ankles reminds you of the one time as a child, when your neighbor dared you to meet him in his creaky old barn to go on a treasure hunt, only for his older brother to follow you wearing a monster mask: a mix of sudden terror and lack of preparation. The person jerks hard and you can’t hold your balance, falling to the floor. Your neighbor – Lena, her name is Lena, your adrenaline-filled brain tells you – rolls towards you, no longer hiding under the bed, and grabs the nearest bottle to smash you with it. You raise your arms in defense, the glass colliding with your forearms. You hiss in pain and try to stand up, only for Lena to smash the bottle, now holding a sharp piece of it in her hands. She lunges at you and you kick her, your foot hitting a target. Pushing yourself of the ground, you reach for your gun, only for Lena to throw the shard at your face. You quickly deflect it with your other arm, the glass cutting through your skin.

“Stop it Lena or I’ll shoot.” Your words fall on deaf ears as she throws herself at you. With nothing to soften your fall, your head hits the floor and you see stars for a few seconds. Luckily, you’re still holding onto your weapon, but you feel Lena’s nails digging into your hands. She’s sitting on top of you, and years of combat training tell you that she’s in the superior position. You try to throw her off, but she seems to anticipate your move. Memories of seeing Lena in the hallway in gym clothes fill your head and you remember that she did a lot of sport.

“Stop it (y/n).” Lena doesn’t sound crazy or angry or like someone who just assaulted her android. Her voice is calm. “You’ve lost.”

“No, you’ve lost.” Connor doesn’t make a sound when he enters the room, so you can focus on his voice – as cold as ice. “Surrender and everything will be fine.”

Lena’s pretty face changes into a hateful sneer when she notices Connor’s LED.

“Another tin can. How wonderful.” she spits. “Be careful (y/n) or he’ll take your job too.” Bitterness has crept into her voice and you realize that you haven’t seen Lena leave for work in a while. Now it all makes sense.

“Lena, I understand that you’re angry about losing your job, but abusing your android who had nothing to do with it isn’t right.” you try to reason with her, looking Lena in the eyes.

“Shut up.” Lena screams and her hands tighten around yours. You’re sure that her nails are going to leave marks. “Don’t pretend to know how I feel! Don’t you dare patronize me!”

“Lena, you’ll want to release (y/n) now.” Connor growls and you and Lena both let out a small gasp. Not only is Connor’s LED red, but his eyes also shine like rubies.

“What kind of machine is this?” Lena asks, her voice shrill and you feel her hands shake.

“The kind of machine who will make your life a living nightmare if you don’t do as I say.” Connor doesn’t sound like a human right now. He doesn’t even sound like an android, but more like something out of a nightmare.  

Lena sniffs and you can see her resolve waver. Her gaze flies towards your forearm and suddenly she pushes herself off you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, (y/n).” Lena’s voice is small, childlike. “I didn’t even want to hurt Sean. All I wanted was to have my old life back.”

You stand up and reach for your handcuffs. As soon as Lena now longer poses a threat, you go back into the living room, Connor on your trail. It seems as if luck is again on your side and you can lock the bedroom door, so Lena can’t escape, even if she somehow managed to escape while being handcuffed.

Connor’s hand suddenly rests on your shoulder and you turn around to face him. While his LED is blue again, his eyes still haven’t returned to their brown color.  

“(Y/n), you’re hurt.” Connor expresses, and you swear there is a hint of sadness and guilt in his voice, and you look down. What you thought to be a small cut is a bigger wound, your blood dripping down.

Connor takes your other hand and leads you into the kitchen. Leaning against the kitchen table, you open your mouth to speak, but he puts his index finger on your lips and you freeze.

“You have nothing to worry anymore. I called for reinforcement. Please let me take care of you.” Connor says with a soothing voice and you would normally relax, if his finger wasn’t on your lips. Your heart thunders in your chest. He stares at his own finger in confusion and quickly removes it.

“The android?” you ask, eager to change the subject and focus on something else. Connor gives you a grim shake of the head and you sigh. While you’re holding the cleanest towel you could find against your wound, you watch Connor roam the kitchen looking for a first aid kit. His little triumphant smile when he finds it melts your heart and you take away the towel as soon as Connor has unpacked the most important medicines on the table.

“I should have followed you, (y/n). I’m sorry.” Connor apologies, his eyes not meeting yours and you immediately feel bad because Connor seems to blame himself.”

“Don’t worry Connor, I’ll live.” you reply cheerfully, trying to reassure him. “It’s only a cut.” Speaking of the cut, both of you look down. You don’t want to admit it, but you start to feel a little dizzy, the stressful day, the fight and the blood loss taking its toll.

“You’re lucky. Lena nearly hit your artery, but the cut is close enough, explaining your blood loss. We should proceed now.” Carefully but efficiently, Connor first wipes the remaining blood away, then uses the disinfection spray on the wound. It prickles but doesn’t hurt. He reaches for the wound-closing gel, the medical revolution of the last years. He applies the cold gel all over the wound and you both watch the cut close, fading into a faint red line. His hands feel cold, but you don’t mind the physical contact. You flex your hand and can’t help but frown when a single drop of blood escapes the closing wound.

Before you can do anything, Connor catches the drop with his finger and moves it to his lips, then licking it. You look at him, stunned, remembering what just happened at the last case.

“Sweet.” he says and you remember that Connor can gain information about a person like this, remembering your first case involving Carlos Ortiz. You wonder what he has just found out about you. Your gazes meet for a moment and you hope that you don’t blush too much, while trying to keep your breathing even.

You’d never thought that the scream of “Detroit police!” would relieve you so much, but here you were.

“We’re here, one moment!” you shout back, before straightening your back and staring at Connor, whose finger is still resting on his lip.

“Connor, your unusual condition and behavior must remain a secret.” you whisper urgently, staring into his red eyes. “You don’t want to compromise your mission, do you?” You know that you just said the magical word. Like a dog and his favorite bone, Connor is focused on his mission. Any traces of emotion, whatever he just felt or thought vanishes from his face, his face and posture becoming a mask of professional neutrality, his eyes fading back to the familiar brown shade. He gives you a court nod.

You both head for the main door and let the police officers and androids enter. Connor immediately explains the case, stating the facts and elaborating on the events you’ve experienced, and you let him, glad to have a moment to rest and sort your feelings. Hank enters last. You approach him, wondering how he handled the previous case.

“Hey kiddo.” Hank’s nickname no longer bothers you, since you’ve realized that is his way of showing he cared. “What the hell happened?” As if someone had rung a bell, Connor appears behind you, explaining the case once more.

“So you were involved in a fight and got hurt?” Hank asks and you nod, raising your arm. He sighs loudly and drags his hand across his face. “First my android and now my detective get hurt. But you both did well with her.” he grumbles, and with a movement of his head he draws your attention to Lena, who is being led away. You exchange a glance with Connor, whose neutral expression cracked for a second, showing his appreciation for the Lieutenant’s compliment.

“You know what? Screw this day, I’m out. Reports can wait for tomorrow.” he says decisively, letting one long look wander over the crime scene, and then heads out. Before leaving, he turns around once more. “Connor, you stay with (y/n) tonight. I’ll sleep better knowing that you have each other’s back and that I don’t have to wake in the middle of the night because one of you is hurt or even murdered. You two rest. That’s an order.” Before you or Connor can reply he’s gone, and you know that following him and complaining will only piss him off. You stand alone in the hallway and look at Connor.

“Guess it’s just you and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I fell into the d:bh fandom and had many feelings. Also, vampire au has been and always will be my jam. I hope you enjoy :) To be continued, a second chapter is on the way.


	2. Revelations

Usually it takes some time to get home after a case, you have time to let your mind process the case, so your head is free when you’re home, but not this time. You only have to take a few steps before you’re home.

Your hand shakes when you reach for the key in your pocket to open the main door. You walk to the couch and like a puppet whose strings were cut, you fall on it. You bury your face into the soft material of the several pillows you own and close your eyes. Just for a moment, you want to forget the world. You feel your tense muscles ease as you stretch out on the couch.

The sound of a glass being put down on the coffee table next to you makes you open your eyes. How Connor moves so silently still continues to amaze you. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. His lean, tall frame, dressed in dark clothes is a sharp contrast to the pale blue of the wallpaper. Reaching out for the glass, you drink the orange juice greedily. You want to stand up, but you freeze in your movement as you feel Connor’s stern gaze on you.

“Please (y/n), sit down, rest and let me take care of you.”

“Connor are you giving me an order?” you ask him teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

“I would call it assisting in your well-being.” The little smile that tugs at his lips and the cheerful sparkle in his brown eyes make your heart skip a beat. It would be so easy, you think, to drown yourself in a fantasy. A fantasy where this isn’t Connor, the android who became your colleague and now your friend, but Connor, your boyfriend. Yet you steel your heart against this kind of thoughts. Do not give into hope when there is none. A small, lonely and frightened part of you hates how human androids are, how likable, how easy to fall in love with.

Ripping yourself out of these thoughts, you look at the coffee table and see the empty cornflakes bowl from today’s breakfast. Your stomach grumbles and you realize how hungry you are. Besides, food will definitely occupy your mind and soothe you.

“Connor, do you mind ordering food?” It feels weird and a little degrading to have Connor perform such mundane tasks but the android only nods.

“There are two Italian restaurants in the area, two Japanese and one Chinese. Based on the reviews and the price, I would recommend _Donna mobile._ ” Connor states after a short moment, his LED no longer yellow but blue, and you agree. _Donna mobile_ is famous for their traditional Italian dishes and although they’re a small family business, they’re well-visited.

“Spaghetti Bolognese please.” Yet another comfort food. Connor nods and you just stare at him while he makes the order. You know that the food will take some time to arrive, so you have time to spare.

“If that’s okay, I’m going to take a shower.” you announce. Hot water and some time alone will do you good.

“Of course. I gather that showering can relieve tension and be very relaxing. Judging from your previous actions and behavior, I conclude that you’re able to do it on your own. However, should you need assistance, I’ll be happy to help.” Connor replies and it’s the way he says it, sincere and well-meaning, but with this almost detached professionalism that makes you turn around, so he doesn’t see you blush.

“I’ll be fine and it won’t be long.” You’re proud that your voice doesn’t sound rushed or higher than usual as you walk – some might even call it flee – into the bathroom.

You were lying: you’re taking long. You let the steaming hot water rush over you as you let your mind wander. You review the events of the day and take a deep breath. This is your ritual: you take a hot shower and imagine that all your problems, your worries leave you and vanish down the drain. It usually works, but not today.

As you leave the shower, grabbing the closest towel, you look at the piles of clothes you have in the bathroom. Getting back into your sweaty, dirty detective clothes is out of the question. But the pajama is too domestic, and way too early. So you sigh and go for the sweatshirt and leggings you had worn the last days. Your hair is no longer dripping wet and set in a bun.

Taking a deep breath, you leave the bathroom and return to Connor in the living room. You see that Connor has already set the table for you. He’s standing close to your little library, his hand hovering over one of the tomes. When he notices you’ve returned, he stops and turns towards you, an almost sheepish smile on his face.

“I didn’t mean to intrude (y/n). I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Feel free to explore my apartment.” you reply, and he focuses back on the books. The doorbell rings and you rush towards the main door, Connor on your trails. You open the door and take your food from the delivery android. After paying, you wish the android a good evening and skip into the living room with your food.

“I wish you a nice meal. Considering your day at work and your fight with Lena, you require and deserve a nourishing meal.” Connor states and you use this as your cue to start eating. The pasta is just the way you like it, the sauce is sublime, and you wonder how you survived before you discovered the restaurant. Connor sits across from you, his hands folded on the table. You remember how the fact that Connor never eats used to unsettle you, but now you’ve become used to it. Before you can stand up and clean the table, Connor is at your side, already reaching for the plate.

You feel yourself falling into a massive food coma and rest your head on the table. Usually you’re not that exhausted from work but today you feel as if you could sleep on the spot.

“Do you mind physical contact?” Connor’s question comes from far away and you only make a negating sound. Whatever Connor wants to do, he can do it, since you’re not doing anything right now.

Strong, slender fingers touch your neck and the fatigue leaves you as the nerves on your neck seem to catch on fire. Your eyes snap open.

“Don’t tense (y/n). I intend to massage your neck and for it to be the most effective and soothing, you should relax your muscles.” Connor explains to you, as if him giving massages to you was something happening on a daily basis.

You let your shoulders drop and close your eyes again. Connor seems to know exactly what spots on your skin to hit, while massaging neither too firm nor too mellow. Goosebumps cover your skin. You could get used to this and you wish that Connor never stops. A satisfied sigh escapes your lips.

“You would make an amazing caretaking android, if you weren’t already an amazing detective android.” you say drowsily and Connor chuckles softly behind you.

“(Y/n), you’re falling asleep. I recommend going to bed.” Connor says and he stops massaging you. You groan indignantly, yet you don’t move a muscle. “I will carry you into bed if I must.” Connor’s words rip you out off your doze and you raise your head from the table. Connor is still standing very close to your chair, his presence both comforting and inviting.

Careful not to wobble, you head towards your bedroom. Before opening the door, you turn around and focus on the android, still as a statue.

“Connor, thank you. I really enjoyed this evening and your company. Have a good night and feel free do whatever you like.” Every smile of Connor feels like a victory, so the genuine one he gives you now, showing his joy over your words, warms your heart.

Your bed is calling you and as soon as your head hits the pillow, you fall asleep.

 

 

You wake up in the middle of the night and see that there’s light in the living room. Somebody has broken in, you worry and reach for the bat next to your bed, before the events of the last day come back. The deviant cooking android. Connor, with human blood on his lips. Lena assaulting her android and your fight with her. Connor, who has spent the evening with you and is currently in your living room.

Wondering what is keeping the android awake at night, you leave your bed and head for the door. Not giving yourself the time or the possibility to chicken out, you open the door and step into the living room.

Connor is sitting on the couch, his gaze unfocused, staring blankly ahead. His hair is slightly disheveled, and his LED is blinking blue and yellow. His jacket hangs on a chair standing close to your dining table. For a moment, you allow yourself to savor this sight. You’ve never seen Connor look so off-guard, so soft, so human. The moment is over as soon as he notices that you’ve entered, and you give him a small smile.

“Hello (y/n).” Connor greets you, but you notice in the stiff way he’s sitting on the couch that something must be bothering him. If he were human, you would offer him something to drink and get him to open up.

“Are you all right Connor?” you ask, directly cutting to the chase. You move closer to him, while still keeping a small distance, giving him time and space to answer. Connor blinks a few times, his brows furrowing, and his jaw clenched. He’s glancing at his jacket while fidgeting his hands.

“What makes you think I’m not?” His tone is polite yet guarded, bordering on defensive. He’s nervous, you realize. You like to believe that right now, he’d want to play with his silver coin, something to keep at least his hands occupied.

“I’m starting to know you. We’re friends.” It’s so nice to say these words. Colleagues just doesn’t describe your relationship anymore. A little voice inside of you whines that friends doesn’t cut it either, but you close your head and your heart against the thought. Connor closes his eyes and exhales deeply, almost sighing. A very human action, a small part of your mind remarks.

“My systems keep showing me worst-case scenarios of the last two cases. It’s unsettling.”

“What do you mean?” You have a hunch what it means, but still you want him to tell you. Besides, talking about problems usually works. You move closer, sitting on the armchair next to the couch. Your knees almost touch and you can see one rebellious lock curling against Connor’s temple.

“I keep seeing you or Hank being hurt or killed. I can only watch, never do anything.” Connor usually looks straight at a person but while he tells you this, you notice his gaze drifting. His face is guarded and despite your detective skills, you can’t read him.

“So basically you’ve had a nightmare.” Before he can reply you reach out, crossing the distance by placing your hand on his cheek. Your heart thunders in your chest, your mind screams, and yet you don’t make a move. “I really appreciate that you worry about me.” you say gently. “But Lena or the deviant android can’t hurt us anymore. Now all we can do is look forward and do our best.”

“Physical contact and optimism. What a nice and human way to calm me.” Connor replies and frustration boils inside of you. How can Connor be so human and so inhuman at the same time? You want to withdraw your hand until you feel his head softly tilting, giving into the caress. Now it feels as if your heart and your head are screaming. If you were android, you’re certain that your system would probably overload by now.

“I can understand the appeal.” Connor sounds earnest and somehow troubled and you bite your lip. Connor lives and breathes for his mission, to solve the deviant case. You understand and support him, with the ugly truth scratching inside of you: you’ve thought more than once that maybe Connor is more deviant than he thinks or allows himself to admit. But that’s not a subject for today. You’re glad enough that he’s told you about the nightmare.

But there’s still one elephant left in the room, one matter you have to discuss. So in the middle of the night, sitting across the android who just admitted to you that he had a nightmare, you decide to tackle the next tricky subject.

“Connor, during the last cases your eyes changed from brown to red. Moreover, you’ve consumed human blood when you were hurt.” you say, your voice equally blunt and kind. You know that some androids can change hair or eye color, but somehow you doubt that Connor is one of them. The human blood still confuses you. Why would an android suddenly consider it a substitute for Thirium?

“I see. You’re correct in your observation. This is indeed unusual behavior. Are you worried that I’m malfunctioning?” The words have barely escaped Connor’s lips before you vehemently shake your head.

“No, I’m worried about you.” you reply urgently. “I’m afraid that something could happen to you.” Fear already curls around your heart, making it hard to admit this.

“(Y/n).” he says your name so kindly, almost tenderly and you can’t help but stare at him. His hand reaches up and covers your hand currently lying on his cheek. Butterflies fly in your stomach. “I’m an android. If something happens to me, I’ll be replaced. Moreover, Cyberlife will analyze me and conduct researches why this behavior occurred.  You’re the one who’s unique, who’s irreplaceable.” Despite his kind words and the warmth they make you feel, an angry fire lights up inside of you. You wish he’d value himself more. You wish Connor wouldn’t talk about his death so nonchalantly, as if it meant nothing. You wish he could see himself the way you see him: just as irreplaceable as he considers you to be.

“No Connor. I don’t want you to be replaced. I want you to stay exactly the way you are. I’m going to do in my power to make it so. We’ll figure this out.” You’ve never raised your tone with Connor, but right now, your voice is an angry hiss.

“Your dedication honors me. I shall do my best in assisting you and remaining intact.” Connor says and removes both your and his hand from his cheek. You know that the moment has passed, and you feel the invisible barriers separating you and him coming back. Yet you don’t want to accept this. Not today.

Before your courage deserts you, you brush your lips against the cheek you’ve been holding. His entire posture tenses, his LED flaring red and you feel blood rush into your face. Conflicting emotions cross over his face: his lips almost smile, yet his brows are furrowed. You don’t dare to look into his eyes, out of fear what you might see or not see. So stupid, the rational part of you hisses. You raise and hurry back to your bedroom, before you or Connor can say anything.

 

 

You never remember your dreams. Even today as your alarm wakes you up, you have no memory of what your brain has processed over the night. Without dreams, the events of yesterday rush to your mind. You kissed Connor! Connor feeding on human blood, Lena’s attack, Connor massaging your neck, all these events pale in comparison to the fact that you pressed your lips against his cheek.

You get ready for work while your brain still screams at you. Put on new clothes. You’ve kissed Connor. Go into the bathroom. You’ve kissed Connor. Brush your teeth and your hair. You’ve kissed Connor. Take your gun. You’ve kissed Connor.

You remember how smooth, yet a little chilly his cheek had felt under your lips. Moreover, you realize that this must have been Connor’s very first kiss and a surge of pride and embarrassment rushes through you. You know it’s a little bit childish, even vain, but you hope that the kiss, no matter how short it was, was enjoyable for Connor and a good first experience.

No reason to hide any longer, you think and step into the living room. The smell of pancakes fills your nose and you see a plate filled with pancakes waiting for you. Connor is sitting in the armchair, looking as impeccable as always. His neutral expression fades into a small smile as he watches you rush towards the dining table.

“Connor you must stop, otherwise I’ll have you here every day.” you cheer and freeze in your movement. Out of the frying pan into the fire. Your last interaction with him has been the kiss, and now you’ve basically hinted at him living with you. Way to go.

“My pleasure, (y/n). Based on the content of your kitchen and general breakfast preferences, I concluded that you would like pancakes.” Connor announces, and you take a bite. The pancakes taste good. Not as good as your Grandma’s, but you appreciate the effort.

“My social module has informed me that cheek kisses are a way of expressing affection. I assume this means we’ve become close friends. This is favorable for my mission and will only affect our partnership positively.” Connor’s last sentence feels like an icy shard to your heart. It’s always about the mission. In moments like this, the painful truth, that he’s a machine accomplishing a task, is undeniable. A human-like machine, but a machine nevertheless.

The smile you give him is a little forced and you focus back on the pancakes, grateful for the distraction. You finish breakfast in silence and head straight for the main door, Connor on your trail. Washing up can wait, right now you need fresh air.

The walk to the department is silent. It’s equally comforting and discomforting. Comforting because you need silence, you need time to think and rein in your emotions. Discomforting because you’re afraid that despite Connor’s claim that you two are close friends, you fear that you just ruined your relationship with him. You're so preoccupied that you don't really notice the harsh coldness that has settled in Detroit, definitely heralding winter. 

You hope that work will keep you busy and enter the precinct, heading towards Hank’s desk. His eyes are glued to his screen and he only notices you when you clear your throat.

“How are you both feeling?” Hank asks, his tone friendly and attentive and you become suspicious. First, it’s very unusual for him to be here before noon, unless something really important happened. You notice the coffee cups on his desk his crinkly clothes and the dark circles around his eyes, so you conclude that he’s been here for quite some time. Second, you see the box of doughnuts standing on your desk. Kindness although Hank is tired, and bribery: you fear the worst.

“There’s something you want us to do, right?” you ask right away, your hands on your hips. You want to scowl at him, but remember that despite everything, he’s still your superior. Hank raises an eyebrow and gives you, you think, an innocent look, but he stops once you don’t take the bait.

“You’re too clever for your own good.” he grumbles, and you smile at his compliment. He leans back into his chair and tilts his head, so you notice the envelope on his desk.

“Before we continue, do you like dressing up?” Hank’s question comes out of nowhere and all you can do is blink.

“Sir?” That one word is all you can get out, while you wonder just how the conversation came to this.

“Costumes and stuff, like carnival.” Hank elaborates, and you think you see a slight blush on his face. He must have realized that his questions was, let’s call it, oddly-formulated.

“Oh yeah well, I’m fine with it.” You’ve been to a few costume parties and you’ll always remember your first time being tipsy on Halloween, dressed up as a fairy, clinging to your partner.  

“Good to hear.” His fingers drum on his desk while he gives you one analyzing look. You stand still and wait for further instructions. After a short moment, he opens the envelope on his desk and shows you two invitations. High-class cursive handwriting on beige letter paper, you notice.

“Congrats you two. You’re going to a fancy Halloween party tonight.” Judging by the elegant invitation, you weren’t expecting a Halloween party. Besides, you’ve been undercover, but never before on a Halloween party. It takes all the self-control you have not to grimace.

“A Halloween party? Seriously?” you ask incredulously. Hank gives you his trademark annoyed-but-sympathetic look and you sigh. The lieutenant had already accepted it and you know that there’s no point in arguing now.

“It beats me too, kiddo. One day is not enough, not even the Halloweek, but no, there are people who now celebrate Halloween a whole month.” Hank grumbles and you decide to just sit on your desk, listen to him, and accept your fate. “We’ve got intel that there’s going to be a special Halloween party. Rumor has it that there will be a lot of rich people and their androids, all dressing up.”

“But that doesn’t sound so terrible.” you argue. You’re aware that while one growing part of Detroit’s population is becoming poorer and more desperate because of the android boom, a small part of Detroit, the city’s finest, thrive because of the androids. Of course these people would cherish their machines and even party with them.

“Do you want me and (y/n) to infiltrate the party and search for deviants?” Connor asks, joining the conversation. He’s been silent so far, but you guess that he’s been waiting for all the necessary information. He’s standing behind you, at the same distance as usual. You can’t make up your mind whether this upsets you or not.

“Yes. Because there’s no way you’ll see me dressed up, and you’ll fit right in with these wantless bunch. You’re both young and good-looking.” You fight the urge to play with your hair after the lieutenant’s compliment. You glance at Connor and see that his LED flickers yellow. Either he’s processing the Halloween case or he’s reacting to the flattery. “Besides, there’s a catch.” Hank’s tone has become serious and you immediately stand up straight. He sighs. “You’ll have to be on your guard and don’t expect this to be easy. You won’t know androids from humans.”

“Why?” Connor asks before you get the chance. Just once, you would like to know what exactly he’s thinking. What kind of research is he doing right now? On Halloween? Infiltration techniques? The richest people of Detroit? Or even about you?

Instead of answering, Hank reaches into the envelope again and takes out an android LED. He gives it to you, along with the two invitations. After giving one to Connor, you start to read.

_My dear friend,_

_join us for a merry evening, celebrating Halloween and the androids. Wear your favorite costume and this LED and bring this invitation, so you may participate._

_Best wishes,_

_Cordelia Lorde._

Cordelia Lorde is one of Detroit’s most famous socialites, whose husband has made a fortune due to clever investment in Cyberlife. Their parties are infamous, with only _the crème de la crème_ being invited. You wonder how the department managed to get the much-desired invitations. Upon further expectation, you realize that the LED is only a replicate and a small layer can be pulled off, so it might be self-adhesive.

“(Y/n), you’ll have to wear it. In fact, every human on this goddamn party will wear one of these fake LEDs. So I reckon you get the point now.” Keeping humans and androids apart is no easy task, but if everyone at this party will look like an android, it will be sheer impossible.

“Do we only have these two invitations?” Connor asks, and Hank gives him a short nod.

“You’ll be on your own. So prepare for tonight. This means no paperwork for you but shopping. (Y/n), take Connor with you and get yourselves adequate costumes. Get ready, and then return. Dismissed. I’m hungry.” Hank states, grabs his jacket and leaves you standing here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I present to you, a lot of fluff and meaningful conversation. The next chapter will be interesting, so stay tuned for it. Comments are always welcome :)


	3. A night to remember

“Considering your rapid pace and your determined facial expression, I conclude that you have a plan?” Connor breaks the silence and you decide to turn around and face him. You didn’t really notice that you’re basically running through Detroit. Truth be told, you’re afraid, even terrified. You’ve been undercover, but never truly on your own. Yes, you have Connor, but not having backup frightens you. And yes, Connor is skilled, apt, he can be all the support you need, but still, there is so much that could go wrong. Besides, this is Cordelia Lorde and her fancy party. How can you survive an evening in the cut-throat glamour society of Detroit and also find deviants? Moreover, what if someone finds out about Connor, he’ll be deactivated, and you’ll never see him again?

“(Y/n).” Connor calling your name rips you back to reality. He’s come closer, and both of his hands are resting on your shoulders, his forehead puckered. “Based on your increased heart rate, the short breaths you’re taking and the trembling of your hands, I’ve determined that you’re having a panic attack.”

You can only stare at Connor and blink. Your confusion grows into petrified bafflement when you feel Connor’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m hugging you, all right? Hugs are the best way to give physical contact and comfort. It will help you. You need to calm down.” You can only nod. You shift your head, so it rests better on Connor’s chest. Although there is no heartbeat, you can hear a very faint buzzing and you like to believe that it comes from Connor’s Thirium pump. You put your arms around Connor and pull him closer. You close your eyes and just focus on the sensation of the hug; you already start to feel better. It’s not a bad hug per se; Connor’s grip around you feels a little mechanical, as if he doesn’t know whether he’s hugging too loose or too tight, but you don’t mind.

“Don’t let go.” The words escape your lips before you can do anything about it. Connor’s grip tightens around you and you take a deep breath. This moment should last forever, but you know it won’t. Besides, there’s work to do. So painfully slowly you unlink your arms, letting them fall to Connor’s side, and open your eyes again.

“Thank you so much, Connor.” You hope that these five words are enough to express the deep gratitude you feel right now. Like an anchor, Connor keeps you grounded, keeps you safe.

“You’re very welcome.” Connor murmurs softly and he lets go of you too. You know it’s sappy, but suddenly you feel colder without him. Truth be told, it has become colder in Detroit and you’re glad you’re wearing your warmest jacket.

You roll your shoulders and give yourself a mental shove. Your next mission is finding costumes for you and Connor. No point in looking at the small costume shops scattered across town. At best, you’ll find a costume you might even like, but can’t take, because it’s not fancy enough. At worst, you run into one of these dubious shops, aimed at people who like dressing up their androids. No, your destination is the biggest shopping mall in Detroit.

You feel immediately warmer as you step into the mall. You’ve come to know the mall like the back of your hand, strolling through the shops, enjoying a hot drink in the small coffee houses, or doing grocery shopping. Not today.

Your destination is _Hills Fashion_ , the first clothes shop that pops into your head when you think about timeless, fashionable clothing. It used to be reserved for the upper side of Detroit. However, nowadays the wealthy middle-class can afford some pieces too. Several shop assistant androids roam the boutique, eager to give advice or fetch the right-sized piece of clothing. They are giving you polite smiles as you stride through the boutique. At the right end of the boutique, close to the evening gowns and the tuxedos, hang the Halloween costumes. The costumes look so authentic you don’t even know what to look at first. 

Connor will get a costume first, so you move towards the men’s section. The first costume immediately catches your eye. Perfect, you think, a smirk spreading on your face and you take it. You walk towards the dressing room, eager to see Connor trying it on.

“Please try it on. No talking back, trust me on this.” you say, preventing Connor from expressing his opinion. He does raise an eyebrow, but you press the costume into his hands and gently push him towards one of the cabins.

“I wonder what your perception of me in this costume will be.” Connor says after a short moment and pulls away the curtains.

Oh no, he’s very hot; it’s the only coherent thought your mind can come up with. You’ve always considered Connor handsome. Cyberlife has never held back when it comes to designing attractive androids, and Connor really is the prime example of how they accomplished to create good-looking machines. But Connor in the costume is something else. The black pants, although similar to those he usually wears, cling to his hips perfectly. He’s wearing a gray vest that fits him so well, you wish that Cyberlife had made him wear one from the start instead of his jacket. The black cape flows around him to his hips. On other men, it might have been over the top, but with Connor, it just completes the costume.

Your mouth wide open, you wish you could force your brain to work again, but all it does is processing the sight of Connor, dressed up as Dracula. Hot! Sexy! Perfect! – your brain is not doing much right now.

“You look really nice.” you finally manage to say, tilting your head so it seems as if you’re further analyzing him. Connor gives you a court nod, then looks around in the dress room, as if he’s checking something.

“(Y/n).” It’s the way he pronounces your name, in a cautious and hushed tone, that makes you immediately snap out of your bubble. “Given my current predicament, do you consider it wise for me to dress up as one of the most iconic vampires?” How casually he talks about the fact that he drank human blood – although it was only once – still continues to baffle you.

“My mother once told me that the best lies were the ones closest to the truth. So dressing up as a vampire is the best way to hide your current predicament.” you explain, and you can’t help but pronounce the two last words more than you needed to. 

“Your reasoning does make sense.” Connor answers after a while, scratching his chin, another human tic he must have adopted. You watch as a muscle in his jaw tenses, he stands up straighter and an iron resolve washes over his features. You call this Connor in his mission-mode.

“Wait here. I’ve already spotted a costume for you.” Connor announces and before you can do or say anything, you watch Dracula leave you. It doesn’t take long for Connor to return, carrying a stunning pale blue dress in his arms.

“Try this on, please.” Connor requests and you look at the dress more closely. The cerulean, strapless corset is close-fitting, adorned on the sides with small pearls and moon stones. The A-line skirt reminds you of the sea, gradually changing from arctic blue to azure, ending below your knees. A tulle layer peaks out underneath the skirt to make it flare and the stones and pearls look like stars reflecting their light on the endless ocean.  

You take the dress to try it on, careful not to make the smallest tear. The silky skirt slithers over your skin and the corset fits like a glove. You look like a fairy as you twirl around, the skirt billowing around you.

A fairy, you ponder. A memory flashes before your eyes: you see yourself sitting in her lap as your grandmother tells you a fairy tale about Pinocchio, a puppet boy who wishes to become a real human boy for his father and gets his wish granted by a blue fairy. Your reflection stares back at you with a wistful expression on its face. What if the fairy also wishes for someone to become human? The thought has barely slipped through your mind before you reprimand yourself for it. Do not give into hope when there is none. You have to accept reality as it is.

“Voilà!” you shout happily as you jump out of the cabin into the dressing room. You feel Connor’s assessing gaze on you as you await his judgment, spinning around.

“The costume suits you and it will serve its purpose for the evening.” Connor states and you try to ignore the blow of irritation his words make you feel and school your face. His LED turns yellow and after watching him processing information, you could swear that Connor blushes, a slight blue shimmer on his cheeks. “This was not very socially adept of me. What I mean to add is, you look really nice too.”

A content giggle escapes your throat and you skip closer to Connor, looking at both of you in the reflection of the giant mirror hanging across the cabins.

“We look great.” you proudly announce. Your reflection beams back at you, with Connor’s corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

“I agree.” a woman announces, and you notice the third person inside the dressing room. Helena Mills cuts a striking figure, her auburn hair, free of any gray strands, are coiffed in an elegant bun. She’s wearing a green jumpsuit complimenting her slim figure, red hair and her fair complexion.

“Thanks Ma’am.” you answer politely. Helena is approaching, circling both of you. However, her interest seems to belong entirely to Connor, who she’s eyeing with interest. She’s almost ogling him, and you’re reminded of someone standing in front of the butcher, trying to find the best piece of meat. It unsettles you.

“How peculiar. I pride myself on being up-to-date with the latest android models, but I can’t figure out what model this is exactly. A new companion model?” It’s the way she says it that almost drives you over the edge: condescending yet self-reliant, believing she knows everything. You can’t do anything about it, you put yourself in front of Connor, ready to shield him from her.

“It’s fine if you don’t know this, but Connor is the newest prototype, an RK800 model investigating deviant cases. He’s not a companion model.” Your voice is sugar hiding the sweetest poison and you almost hiss the last sentence. You’ve inched closer, your back almost hitting Connor’s chest, but you don’t care. This woman has no right to stare at him this way.

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” Connor says his trademark sentence, but you notice that he’s saying it with a chilly undertone.

“My apologies. You two look close, you had me fooled.” Helena’s last words still ring in your ears after she’d left, and now you’re putting your clothes back on. Connor’s already waiting for you, dressed in his usual clothing, his jacket letting everyone know what he is; there would be no mistaking him now.

Before heading to the exit, you quickly check the accessories section and find what you need to make the costumes perfect: a silver wand for you and fake fangs for Connor. You choose not to look at the price as you pay at the exit, hoping that the department will refund at least a small part.

With Connor carrying the shopping bags, you wonder what to do next. You know that going back to the police station is out of the question. You can almost hear Hank bellowing at you to get out of here, to gather your strength for the evening. It’s still too early for lunch and you’re in no mood to take a stroll through the mall.

“Let’s go home, Connor.” you say and you secretly like how easy, how natural the little sentence rolls over your tongue. Connor doesn’t say anything but gives you a court nod and you curse Helena internally. Damn her and her comment about you and Connor being close. While your heart agrees, your mind knows that this has made Connor put some distance between himself and you. He’s walking two steps behind you and you know that unless you say something, he won’t converse either. His body language says enough: not only is he keeping his distance, he’s also leaning backwards, walking as straight as he can. He’s not turned towards you. Truth be told, it upsets you.

This is going to be a long day, you think as you enter your apartment. You walk into the living room and have no clue what to do. After putting down the bags, Connor stops in front of your little library, apparently picking up where he has stopped yesterday. You take your tablet to occupy your mind and your hands, switching between articles about Cordelia Lorde and videos of cute animals. Connor is reading Pride and Prejudice. Interesting choice of books, you think as a small smile spreads on your lips at the sight of Connor, completely immersed in Netherfield, his gaze glued to the pages, leaning forwards as if he wants to fall into the book.

After watching enough dogs in the snow, you decide to quit wasting time and do something. You catch up on your shows. You tidy up your bathroom. You rearrange your pillows. You clear out your wardrobe. Not in the mood for cooking, you just wolf down a few pieces of toast. You take out the trash. In fact, you do all the things you’ve postponed because you’ve never had the time to do them. A small voice inside of you hisses that the chores keep your mind and hands occupied, but you don’t mind it, as it is true. Better to clean than to have another panic attack.

You’re about to clean the living room when you notice that Connor is no longer sitting, but he has stood up. His arms are crossed, and he gives you a sharp glare.

“Stop.” he says firmly, almost ordering you and you raise your chin up. “You’ll only tire yourself out. I advise you to rest before the evening party. I gather that such events can take long, so you should be as rested as possible.”

“God, I hate it when you’re right!” Secretly, you’ve had this thought more than once after meeting Connor, but this time you actually voice it. You turn around and storm off into your bedroom. You regret your sudden outburst the moment you close the door. Connor only meant well. Yet your hand hovers over the doorknob. Maybe it’s best to take Connor’s advice. A nap can only do you some good. Maybe you just need to cool down.

You’re gone the moment your head hits the pillow.

 

You wake up, rested but with a fuzzy feeling in your head. How long did you nap? You check the alarm clock on your nightstand and let out a loud yelp. Dashing into the bathroom, you confirm your worst suspicions: your hair is a tangled mess and you’re sweaty because you’ve slept in your clothes. You burst into the living room to see Connor sitting in his armchair, already dressed in his costume, still reading Pride and Prejudice. At least he’s ready.

“(Y/n)”, he greets you. “It’s good that you’re awake. I was about to wake you up. We mustn’t be late.”

“I know. Now I may be rested, but I’m stressed!” you answer, your voice shrill. You grab the bag from _Hills Fashion_ and return into the bathroom. This time you shower faster. No time to lose.

Your heartbeat slows down the moment your reflection shows you dressed in the fairy costume. Your hair is in a braided chignon, a few strands framing your rouged face. The fake LED is sticking to your temple. Silver stilettos complete the outfit. You reach into the bag to retrieve your wand and notice that the fake fangs are still lying in it.

This time you don’t burst into the living room but enter it calmly, crossing the distance between yourself and Dracula.

“Connor.” you call out kindly, and he rises from the armchair. He hasn’t said anything, his expression guarded. His gaze darts towards your temple and his eyes widen, only for a small moment. You open your hand to reveal the fake fangs and he immediately perceives what must be done.

“You don’t mind?” Connor asks, allowing you instead of him to choose what will happen next.

“Not at all.” You hope that Connor understands that this is your way of making up for your last outburst. Putting the glue on the fake fangs, you wait for Connor to open his mouth a little. You steel your heart to remain calm while you press the first fang against Connor’s incisor. Satisfied with the result, you repeat the procedure with the second one.

“Now you look perfect.” you say with a smile. Connor really looks like a vampire now. He looks dashing, as if he’d jumped right out from the cover of a vampire novel. Fake blood would make it complete, but there’s a reason you chose not to buy the vials of red liquid you’ve seen in the store. One mustn’t tempt fate. You pray that this incident with human blood won’t happen again. You’re terrified that it could only bring misery to Connor and heartache to you.

“So do you.” Connor sounds genuine and you blush at his words.

Bringing some distance between you and him, you twirl around, grab your black coat and your silver clutch containing the invitations, and head to the door. The taxi Connor had called arrives immediately. You’re too lazy to walk to the precinct at this time and with this weather.

You can’t explain the weird unreality you feel as you enter the precinct, your makeup and hairdo flawless, wearing a blue silken dream, with Dracula walking next to you. You move slowly, careful not to get a wrinkle in your dress and you wish that you were better at wearing high-heels.

“A fairy and a vampire walk into a police station…” Chris jokes good-humoredly, his smile reaching his eyes. As you and Connor close in to Hank’s desk, you flash Chris a joyous grin. The grin fades away when you notice Hank’s empty chair. You’ve hoped that he would be here.

“Who knew that you could dress up so nicely.” Gavin sneers and you roll your eyes. He’s leaning against the wall and you hadn’t noticed him before. Why must he be such a prick? You know that Gavin does have a good side. It’s just very easy to miss.

“And you dress up as a douche? Really nailed it.” Your quip seems to hit a target, as Gavin leaves in a huff, grabbing his jacket and heading for the exit.

You hear Hank’s barking laugh and turn your head to see him coming from the cafeteria, a hot beverage in hand. If he looks any grumpier, he would scare children, you think as you wait for him to arrive at his desk. There are coffee stains on his shirt and even your best concealer couldn’t hide his eye bags.

“Good one, kiddo. Gavin deserved it. Hell, he always deserves something.” Hank says after sitting down in his chair and you watch him take a big gulp of his drink. Before he can say anything, you hear the captain’s office door opening and watch Fowler approach you. His authoritarian presence always makes you stand up straight. His stern gaze flies over you and Connor and he nods slowly. Coming from Fowler, this is as much praise as it can get.

“As Hank has already explained to you, you will be on your own. You can’t imagine the hell I went through just to get these two tickets.” Fowler’s stern gaze loses focus for a moment, and his flat tone doesn’t hide the chagrin in his eyes or that his shoulders sagged a little. “Find deviants. We need to advance in this investigation.” Fowler doesn’t waste any more time and heads back to his office. You know that there’s nothing more to do here either. Your instructions are clear, you know what to do. Now it’s up to you and Connor.

A small part of you wishes that the lieutenant would say something to you, that he would encourage you, but you know that this isn’t Hank’s style. His eyes are glued to the screen of the PC and from the corner of your eye, you quickly read Lena Williams. Guilt coils up in your stomach; Hank is doing your work. This is the report you’re supposed to write and he’s covering for you.

You turn around to leave, clutching your purse, your eyes fixed on the ground, the clicking of your stilettos echoing the clicking of Hank’s keyboard.

“(Y/n), Connor, come here!” Hank barks and you turn around to see him standing close to the windows. When did he get up and why? You do as he demands, and watch Hank take out his phone. Everyone knows that Hank is not fond of technology. You once saw him screaming at his phone because he had accidentally deleted a picture of Sumo.

“You two, don’t look as if you’re two deer in headlights. Smile!” His order snaps you out of your confusion and now you understand: Hank wants to take a picture of you and Connor. Joy warms you up from the inside better than any alcohol could, and you beam at Hank. With a subtle side glance, you notice that the corners of Connor’s mouth are also turning up.

You watch Hank take several pictures and pray that they don’t get deleted. You’ll absolutely ask Hank if he can send them to you. You need these pictures. He checks them, but the slight frown on his face seems to indicate that he’s not satisfied yet.

“Get closer. On the picture you look as if you two are strangers.” Hank instructs, and you take the initiative to move closer to Connor. He’s taller, so you take a small step forward, choosing the position that can only be described as standing in front of him and next to him at the same time. Your arms make contact, your bare skin touching his shirt. You will your breathing to be even and hope that Connor doesn’t pick up on your rapid heartbeat. You could reach out for his hand, but you’re a chicken. Instead, you gently incline your head so that on the picture it will look as if you’re resting your head on his shoulder. Somehow, this reminds you of parents taking pictures of their children and their date for the high school ball and you have to fight to keep up the smile.

“All right then, that’s enough.” Hank says and puts his phone away and you release your breath. Hank looks at both of you for a second, his jaw locked. “Show these rich bastards how to party. Take care.” The last two words are almost whispered and a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen takes over Hank.

“We’ll do.” Both of you reply at the same time, causing you to giggle about the fact of how in sync you are. No longer wanting to waste any more time, you leave the station, heading towards the cab that will take you to Cordelia Lorde’s mansion. You stare out of the window, anxious to keep your mind empty.

“Wow.” you gasp when the cab pulls into a circular driveway, parking next to foreign, expensive cars and even a few limousines. Like moths drawn to a flame, you watch people walk towards the brightly-lit mansion of Cordelia Lorde. Even from afar it looks magnificent, the white marble structure shining like a star in the night.

The doors of the cab open and you step outside, the cold immediately cutting into you. You hiss in the crisp, freezing air and you head for the mansion, walking as fast as you can in your heels, trying not to slip on the frozen concrete.  

“I hope the cold is not too uncomfortable.” Connor says next to you, easily keeping up with you and you raise your hands to blow into them. The cold will never bother him. One of the many perks of being an android.

“You have no idea. I’m turning into a human Popsicle.” you whimper. The cream tights you’re wearing underneath your dress could as well be made from paper, for they don’t keep the cold from your skin. You snuggle into your black greatcoat, grateful for the warmth it provides.

Before you can enter the mansion, you realize, you have to show your invitation to the people – androids or humans, you can’t tell – dressed in black who roam the space in front of the massive iron front door. Several sleek outdoor heaters are providing the much-desired warmth and servants dressed in white walk around with steaming cups. There aren’t many people outside, but the few who are still waiting for their invitation to be checked, all wear masks.

“Connor why do all these people wear masks?” your voice is calm, but inside of you, anxiety raises its ugly head. Did you miss something? You look again, careful not to miss something. Not only is everyone wearing LEDs, but also breathtaking Venetian masks. You and Connor stand out. Great.

“I don’t know. There was no note of masks in the invitation.” Connor replies and you fight the urge to rub your hands. You’ll have to roll with it. After your invitations are controlled, you are granted entrance.

As you enter through the front door, the first thing that happens is that Cordelia Lorde’s staff relieves you off your coat, bringing it into an adjoining room. You see black-dressed people keeping a watchful eye on the entrance. It eases your mind that Cordelia does have security. One can never be too sure, especially at such events. 

As you watch the room you’ve just entered, the first thing you notice is the big staircase occupying the foyer. Red carpets mark the path to go on the marble floor, with golden chandeliers illuminating the room and bathing everyone in a warm glow. Pictures you can’t imagine the worth grace the ebony-lined walls. You think that some of the art could be by Carl Manfred. In short, you’ve only entered but you already feel abundance, the extravagance and the wealth overwhelm you.

Slowly walking forwards, you realize that the red carpet doesn’t lead you towards the staircase, but to a big double door made of mahogany. You notice a signpost at the bottom of the staircase, advising everyone not to explore. _Dear guests, please do not cross this point. Respect the private quarters. Trespassers will be excluded._

“Connor look.” you whisper and nudge him gently, your head tilting towards the staircase. “I don’t like it that there are quarters we shouldn’t visit. I like to know the whole area. Who knows what could happen there? Moreover, it could leave us exposed.”

“I agree.” Connor replies in hushed tones, leaning towards you, his breath tickling your ear. You watch as his LED turns yellow, focusing on his face. Whatever Connor is processing, he doesn’t seem to like it. His eyebrows are furrowing, a muscle in his jaw tenses and his gaze wanders over the whole mansion. “This doesn’t make any sense. I can’t find any information about this mansion, especially the layout.”

“Guess we’re going in blind.” you say and let out a weary sigh. Not the best start.

“Not only blind, but also mute.” Connor grumbles and you cant your head. His LED is still yellow, and his right hand is tapping against his left upper arm. He’s turning towards you. “As you know, androids can communicate between each other and make calls. However, an interference is running in this house, preventing this communication.”

Your mouth falls open and you scan the room in the fruitless attempt to find the source of interference. However, if Connor can’t find it, chances are big you won’t either.

“Why would Cordelia Lorde do that?” you ask incredulously. Authenticity aside, it implies a source of risk for the evening. Connor doesn’t seem to have an answer, but rather puts his hands on the small of your back, gently pushing you forward.

As you approach the door, you see a man dressed up as a medieval herald, sporting dark gray tights and a feathered hat.

“Good evening, fair lady, noble lord.” he greets you, deeply inclining his head and you fight the urge to curtsy. “Who may I announce?” His questions comes out of the clear sky and you freeze. You must keep up your cover, but don’t be suspicious. What to say?

“Tinkerbell and Dracula.” you impulsively blurt out and while you cringe internally, you force yourself to stand tall, lifting your head. If you’re convinced that this is right, so will other people, you hope.

“Very well.” the herald says with a twinkle in his eyes, and he opens the door. “May I present Dracula and Tinkerbell!”

Your first reaction is thinking that you might have tumbled into a fairy tale; this ball room is made for princesses and princes, for queens and kings. Intricate swirls make every beige marble tile look like a piece of art. Countless chandeliers, lit up with real candles, dangle above you. The largest one in the middle of the round room immediately catches your eye. Made of countless crystals, it sparkles so beautifully that you can’t help but gasp in delight. The big marble pillars lining up form the basement for the second floor of the ball room. There are no stairs and no other way to access the second floor, so you suspect that it can only be reached through the private quarters. No people are to be seen upstairs, so until now, the private quarters restriction seems to be respected. Brown settees invite to take a break and relax, with champagne glasses and appetizers waiting on small vitreous tables. Classical music is played by a small orchestra in the left corner of the room and you close your eyes, listening to the beautiful tunes of a piano and a violin in perfect harmony. Moonlight falls into the room through the big, arcuated windows.

Connor clears his throat and you shake the melody’s grip on you. You have a mission after all.

“Okay, let’s mingle, talk to the people here, so we can at least try to identify them and have at least a chance to find out who’s human and who’s android. You go left, and I go right, let’s meet again in the middle okay?” you suggest and Connor nods. After being around Connor the entire time, your right side feels empty without him, but there’s no time for sentimentality.

You carefully approach the many knots of people in the ballroom, mindful not to get to close, but close enough to overhear the conversation and to get a good look at the people. Damn these masks! They may be beautiful, some so artistically crafted that you would have never dared to wear them, too afraid to break them, but they seriously hinder your investigation. So many of the masks cover more than half of the face.

After the second knot of people, where all you’ve learned was boring chit-chat, who’s dating who and what the best colors are to wear this season, you start to become frustrated and anxious at the same time. You almost run your hand through your hair but remember the pain it was to get the hairdo, so instead you just flex your fingers and take a deep breath. There’s no need to panic. The evening has just started. Maybe Connor has more luck. You continue your way through the crowd.

“It’s such a shame that Elijah Kamski didn’t come.” a black-haired woman dressed as devil, wearing a red and black jumpsuit, whispers to her neighbor, Marie-Antoinette, complete in 18th-century gown and a red line across her ivory neck. This comment piques your interest. Elijah Kamski has been invited? You haven’t heard something about the Cyberlife founder and creator of androids for quite some time. All you know is that he has disappeared from the public, living reclusively somewhere close to the city.

“I wonder why he hasn’t come.” Marie-Antoinette whispers back. You’re glad these two have only eyes for each other, because otherwise they would surely notice the way you’re blatantly eavesdropping. They don’t even notice that you almost stand in their personal space. “He just doesn’t show up anymore. Is he ill? Dying? Bored? Working on new androids?” They start discussing reasons why he didn’t come and the more unlikely they get, the less interested you become. You continue on your way.

Finally you spot a person you’re sure you recognize. Chatting with a good-looking man dressed as a knight, you see Lily Watson, who played the female lead in your favorite teenage drama. You’ve watched the show religiously and would recognize the freckled face, brown eyes and honest smile of the main actress everywhere. You’re ready to add yourself to the conversation when you notice that across the room, close to the orchestra, you see someone standing with a striking resemblance to Lily Watson, the only difference being the color of the dress and the hairdo. Your eyes narrow. What’s going on here?

You pick up a quicker pace and crane your neck, your gaze flying over the crowd. The more you focus on the people in general, the more you notice that many people here seem to have a doppelganger. Androids who are the same model all look the same, but Lily Watson is human, you’re sure of it.

You feel like a fool when it suddenly strikes you: these people must have dressed up their androids, so they look like themselves! You let out a groan as you storm towards the middle of the ball room. Connor is already waiting for you, leaning against one of the pillars, still as a statue. If people were paying attention, they would notice his inhuman motionlessness and calm. He has chosen the best position to keep an eye on the whole room. He notices your arrival immediately.

“These people here have dressed up their androids, so they look like them!” you hiss indignantly, shooting daggers at yet another celebrity you can’t recognize because of the mask and because he has a doppelganger only standing a few feet away.

“I see you’ve come to the same conclusion.” Connor replies, pushing himself off the pillar in one smooth move, his gaze shifting from the whole room towards you. A+ vampire move, you think as your cheeks warm up. The way he quickly crosses the small distance between you has something ethereal, almost hunting to it.

“I have the feeling as if Cordelia Lorde has thought of everything to make this undercover mission our personal nightmare.” you whine as you shake your head. Your hope of finding deviants is pretty much gone.

Speak of the devil, you think as all the chatter in the ballroom dies down the second a woman enters. Cordelia Lorde seems to glow. Her long, white sleeveless gown almost touches the ground. Several white gemstones shine in competition against each other, drawing patterns on the lace. Her platinum blonde hair falls around her face in soft curves, a white gold tiara crowning her head. Red lipstick is in stark contrast to the pale, even features of her heart-shaped face, her gray eyes highlighted with silver kohl. She really looks like a queen, you muse, watching her stride into the center of the ballroom.

“My dear friends.” Cordelia Lorde has that kind of melodious voice that makes people immediately listen to her. “To have each and everyone of you here warms my heart. Thank you for your presence. This evening, we celebrate harmony. We welcome those who look like us, who think like we do, regardless of the color of blood. We also celebrate secrecy and the freedom it gives us.” She’s really good, a real socialite. Although speaking to a crowd, you feel as if her words are meant for you. She knows how to capture a crowd. As you quickly glance across the room, you see everyone hanging on her lips. “Let us put our mind and our body at peace with a little dance.” She claps into her hands and the orchestra starts playing, filling the room with classical music.

You can’t help but freeze when people around you start getting into position to dance. Oh no. You can’t dance to save a life, especially not a waltz. Everyone in this room is gathered in pairs and you have to act now.

“Connor, help.” you stand on your toes to whisper into his ear, a rebellious streak of your hair brushing against his jaw. His LED blinks amber and you pray that there is a dancing module or software. Connor takes your hand and leads you into the ballroom. His left hand holds your right hand, his long fingers locked with yours, while his right hand is resting on the small of your back.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” Connor instructs, and you comply, putting your hand on his silky vest. Dancing implies body contact, and the waltz is no exception. The closed position you’re currently holding really is close. Your toes almost touch and you’re so close to Connor that you can count the freckles on his face. You’ve always liked his brown eyes. A hot chocolate during winter. The rich, soft ground on which you lie on a summer’s day. Your favorite teddy bear. All these fond, warm memories fill your mind while you lose yourself into his eyes.

“Don’t worry, (y/n), everything will be all right.” Connor says, his voice reassuring and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. You barely notice that you two have started moving, Connor pulling you with him. You have no experience of dancing a waltz, but still you think that he’s an exceptional lead and you’re glad that all you have to do is following him. You float across the room and from the corner of your eye, you see some people give you impressed, even envious glares.

“I never thought you’d be such a great dancer. Cyberlife really thought about everything.” you tease Connor and just for a second, he stiffens, and you lose focus, your feet no longer under your control. In an effort to keep you from falling, Connor catches you by lifting you up and twirling you. For an instant your feet no longer touch the ground and a fleeting thought crosses your mind – that’s what flying must feel like – before you’re gently put back on the ground. You cling closer to Connor, your left hand no longer on his shoulder but on the nape of his neck, your fingers touching his hair. His hand is no longer resting on the back but on your hips, steadying you. The first dance seems to have ended for there is no more music. You and Connor are locked in this tight embrace and you finally find the courage to search his face for a reaction. His stoic look is replaced by an almost content expression, an avid twinkle in his ever-fixing gaze.

Your mind is a blank space and your heart is a thundering mess. Even with the music gone, you’re not capable of any clear thoughts.

The sound of gun shots catch you by surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas eve! I'm sorry this chapter took so long, but real life demanded my full attention and I spent quite some time on writing and rewriting this chapter. I promise that the next chapter won't take so long, as I've already started it. As always, your comments are always welcome :)


	4. Shattered

You’re lying on the ground and for one short moment, you don’t know what has happened. Looking upwards, your blurry vision only recognizes stars. No, this isn’t right. You see the crystals of the large chandelier. You’re in Cordelia Lorde’s mansion on an undercover mission to find deviants. Everything was fine until you heard gunshots.

You want to stand up but notice that something heavy is lying on top of you, making it impossible to move. Not something, you realize with terror, someone. Connor! He must have thrown you to the ground to shield you.

“Connor!” you say weakly, your hands reaching up to shake him. No reaction. You squirm underneath Connor’s unmoving frame, so you can see better and take a look at him. His back is marred with gun entry wounds; you can even see the dented plastic and the blue wiring running underneath. The grey vest is full of blue stains, Thirium running down in streams.  

“Oh Connor.” A tear rolls down your cheek as you whisper his name, your fingers hovering over his wounds. Careful not to make his state worse, you push him down a little and turn him around. You manage to sit down and cradle his head in your lap. His eyes are closed, and he looks as if he’s sleeping, a peaceful expression on his face.

Gunshots once more fill the room and you flinch when you see a bullet hit the pillar to the left, only inches away from you. Wails and broken sobs have replaced screams. You have never felt so useless before as you let your eyes wander over all the hurt people in this room.

“Let this be a warning. A warning for all those who sympathize with androids. A warning for all those who choose plastic over flesh. Blood only has one color: red! Destroy the machines or be destroyed!” a distorted male voice booms from above. Of course, you think as dreadful realization hits you: they are on the balconies – an ideal vantage point. You must at least try to stop them.

“I’ll be back.” you promise the android, your hands brushing through his silky hair, a gesture to comfort him and yourself. He’s still not moving, and you feel a sob clawing its way into your throat.

Suddenly Connor’s eyes snap open, crimson instead of dark amber. He turns his head to the side and starts wheezing before coughing something out. The fake fangs. He’s moving his head violently and his confused gaze just wanders around. You’re not sure Connor’s aware what’s happening. What’s going on?

After grinding his teeth, he opens his mouth just a little and you notice something odd. Your gaze flies back to the disgorged fangs then back to Connor’s mouth. Still, you can’t wrap your mind around what you’re seeing. How can there be fangs in Connor’s mouth if he just spit out the fake ones?

You slowly move a hand towards his mouth, intending to investigate the long incisors, when his wandering gaze finally meets yours.

“I’ll shut down soon. Help me.” Connor asks, no, begs, and your feel heart sink. They may be red, but even the unusual color can’t hide the real fear you see in his eyes. Connor is afraid, you realize with a lump in your throat.

You’ve stopped brushing through his hair, your unmoving hands resting on his shoulders. You know what to do, a low voice whispers in the back of your head. Your gaze flies from your wrists to Connor’s mouth. He saved you; it’s only right if you save him too. You hate the small tremble that moves through your body.

A loud thud next to you catches your attention. You turn around to the source of the noise and your heart twists. Not by the left pillar, but by the right one, sits a man. The pillar is smeared red, so you deduce that the man has been standing, before becoming too weak and sinking down. Red streams make the man’s fake armor look real. He’s no longer wearing a mask, so you can see the ashen face contorted with pain. You realize that it’s the man you saw talking to Emily Watson. 

“Help me.” the man pleads. Your gaze flies over him and sorrow coils in your stomach. The wounds are too severe; this man is going to die. You know it and judging by the despair in the man’s eyes, he knows it too. He just wants to not be alone in his final moments – what can be more human?

You glance at Connor, his eyes half-closed and you ball your hands into fists. What did you do to deserve this kind of terrible situation? The rational part of your brain tells you that there is only one person you can still help, you can still save: Connor. But the human part refuses to leave this man alone in his final moments.

“I’m here for you. What’s your name?” you say as kindly and gently as possible, trying to keep any tremor out off your voice.

“Sam.” the knight replies and gives you the smallest smile, before wincing again, taking a shaky breath. He’s getting worse, you think. You must do something now. How can you help Sam and Connor?

An idea sprouts in the back of your mind and you reject it immediately, ashamed of even thinking about it. But desperation, worry and forlornness water it until it takes roots and blossoms, growing so big that you can’t do anything but consider it.

“I’ll come and get you a little bit closer, is that all right?” After Sam’s court nod, you put Connor’s head down as cautiously as you can, and you stand up. Your shaky legs feel like cotton and you’re glad that you only have to take a few steps. Kneeling down in front of Sam, you gently put his arm around your neck. On the count of three, he and you both manage to get him standing. As quick as possible, you move back to Connor. You both kneel down, and you position Sam so he’s lying parallel to Connor, their bodies almost touching.

Now you’re sitting down in the small space at the top of both of their heads. You take a deep breath and try to find more strength. A small voice inside of you screams about how wrong and despicable this is, and you agree. But what else can you do?

You reach out to take Sam’s arm and put it down so his wrist is close to Connor’s mouth. A bullet has gone through his shoulder and blood has dripped down towards his hands. You hope that it’s enough.

Apparently, it’s more than enough, because Connor grips the wrist and sinks his fangs into the flesh faster than you had imagined. Sam let’s out a startled gasp and you put your hands under his chin, so he’ll look at you instead of Connor. He doesn’t need nor deserve any horror or pain in his last moments.

“I’m so sorry I can’t help you.” you confess, your voice quavering.

“It’s all right. You’re doing all you can. Thanks for being here.” Sam whispers back and you close your eyes for a second, so the tears don’t fall. Your hands stroke his stubbly chin and you start humming a small tune. From the corner of your eye, you see that Connor is no longer lying but sitting, still drinking from Sam. This means that his strength is returning, that your plan had worked. You hope that this doesn’t hurt Sam too much. You wish for no pain for him. Your troubled mind finds no words to describe Connor actually feeding off a human, entirely preoccupied with the task, so you give Sam your attention.

“I feel so tired. Like an empty battery.” You’re glad that you’re sitting close to Sam, otherwise you wouldn’t have heard him. His face is devoid of color and his glassy eyes don’t seem to focus on you but rather only stare blankly ahead.

“You deserve to rest.” you comfort him and give him your softest smile, although it feels forced and your hands tremble on his cold skin.

“I think I’ll sleep now.” Sam’s words sound like they come from far away and you brace yourself for the inevitable. It’s just not fair, a part of you rages. So many innocent lives are lost today. This was supposed to be a fancy evening, not a gathering of death.

“Sweet dreams.” You can’t stop the tears and they run down your cheeks. The moment Sam draws his last breath is the moment Connor lets go off his wrist. Your hands brush over Sam’s eyelids and his green eyes take a last look at the world before they close forever.

Your whole body feels stiff and you feel detached, like a kite without a line. You’re aware that you’re in shock. However, there are some things that nothing, no training or anything, can prepare you for.

You’re shaking as you’re slowly getting up, your arms wrapped around your body. Your finally look at Connor, who’s towering over Sam, looking at him with a blank face.

“Connor?” you call him, finally getting his attention. Truth be told, he’s a terrifying sight. Blood is smeared on his lips and around his mouth, even dripping down on the right side of the chin. He does not look like Dracula, he _is_ Dracula. Your glance flies over him and relief floods your body when notice that his wounds are no longer leaking Thirium. His self-repair must have kicked in to at least seal off the wounds.

His intense red gaze fixes on you and it takes everything from inside of you not to flinch. There is no recognition in his eyes. He tilts his head and moves towards you, assessing you as if he had never seen you before.

“Connor!” Your voice trembles as you implore him. Please see me. Please recognize me. Please be my Connor again. You honestly don’t know what to do if he doesn’t.

“(Y/n).” Connor says your name and you release the breath you didn’t know you’re holding. He says your name like a prayer and you allow yourself to hope.

“Are you all right?” you ask, crossing the small distance between you and him to hold his hands. The same hands that had held Sam’s wrist as Connor had sucked what little life Sam had left out off him. He replicates the gesture and his touch steadies you.

“I am. I feel optimal.” Connor announces his response cautiously, yet with enough self-assurance to melt the remaining icy worry that had annealed your heart. He’s back. His eyes may burn, but his words or actions do not.

“Good.” You say the little word with relief. He’s fine while, truth be told, you are not, but it will have to do. Before you can leave, there is something you’ll have to do before you can investigate.

Your feet feel like lead as you go back towards Sam. Although your knees and joints start aching from all the kneeling and standing, this is something you have to do. You take Sam’s wrist and observe it. The puncture wounds left by Connor’s fangs may be small, but they’re unusual; they stand out. Everybody who’s trained to look for these kind of details will spot these oddities.

A hysterical laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You’re a detective. You’re supposed to find and preserve evidence, not hide or destroy. Connor’s worried look hasn’t escaped you. But then his gaze fixes on the wrists and you see that he has realized it too.

“We can’t leave it behind like this.” you state, and your gaze scans the room, looking for something, anything. You watch Connor roam the room, careful not to step too close to the motionless people – dead, hurt or unconscious – before picking something up and returning. A shard of glass, maybe from one of the broken windows, large enough to even serve as a weapon. It will surely do to hide the puncture wounds.

Your reach out with your hand, ready to do the deed, but Connor shakes his head.

“I don’t leave finger prints; you do.” Connor is right, but deep down, you wanted to be the one to touch Sam one last time; as a goodbye, or even an apology.

Kneeling down and with a neutral efficiency, Connor turns the small holes into small, unsuspicious cuts. These little wounds were also proof that you didn’t make up Connor feeding from Sam. That Connor’s vampirism becomes a recurrence. Now they’re gone.

“Let’s go.” you say and turn around so quickly you almost trip. A myriad of emotions push through you, urging you to leave this place. You don’t feel comfortable. You don’t feel safe. Everything got out of hand. Everything inside of you itches to take back some control, to leave the frightened mess you’re now behind and become the skilled detective you’re known to be. To find the people responsible for this horrible bloodshed.

“The second floor.” Connor completes your thoughts. His gaze flies upwards and without any doubt, he starts moving towards the door. You follow him as fast as you can, cursing your shoes and the blisters they’ll bring, and let yourself be pulled with by Connor’s purposefulness.

The mahogany door is ajar and after taking a quick peek, you find the foyer empty. As you both sneak back into the room, your hearing feels magnified, you expect a scream, a shot, or anything to pierce through the silence. But nothing.

Looking down on the red carpet, you wish that there would be more sadness inside of you as you see the cheerful herald in a pool of blue blood. Next to him lie two of Cordelia’s black-dressed security staff. Connor kneels down and frisks them. Luck seems to be on your side for once, for he provides you with a gun and keeps the other one. The cold metal feels familiar against your sweaty palm and you let out a long sigh: you’re no longer defenseless.

“Hurry!” You’re one the first step of the staircase when that one male shout startles. A man and a woman holding hands burst into the foyer, having apparently ignored the trespassing warning. However, it seems to have brought them some good, since they don’t seem to be wounded.

They reach the stairs and you stop moving. Time stops too. For this one precious moment, they are going to make it. But then time catches up. A single gunshot seems to be enough for their happiness to end. They both tumble down on the white floor and once more, you curse this evening.

The shooter, standing in the doorway, visibly pales when he sees you and Connor, apparently not expecting people, especially armed ones, and spins around to flee into the room he just left. You’re a good shot, and you like to believe that you missed your target, his shoulder, because he has moved. But deep down, you wanted to end one of the people responsible for his tragedy. It’s not rational; it’s not what a good detective ought to do. But right now, it feels good. He goes down, just as the innocent couple.

Connor rushes upwards, eager to interrogate the dying man, and you let him. You run towards the couple. The man is cradling the woman, his LED spinning red. They’re both not wearing masks and no LED can be seen on the woman’s temple. Blue and red turn the white marble floor into a lilac sea. As you kneel down, you realize in horror that it’s more reddish.

“Don’t leave me.” the android begs, raw anguish in his voice while he pulls her closer, as if he wants to close the gun wound with only body contact. If only this worked, you think bleakly.

“Never.” the woman answers, cupping the man’s cheek, before a cough shakes her body. It leaves her lips stained red.

“Why couldn’t it hit me?” His wails tighten your chest and the way he affectionately kisses the palm of her hand make your eyes water. He’s not a machine, he’s alive and feeling, a small voice inside of you says.

“Darling.” The pet name holds so much love, you feel like an invader for witnessing their last moment. “You’ll go on without me, will you?” Her voice is merely a whisper now, her hand slipping away from his cheek to the ground. You grit your teeth, trying and failing to prepare yourself for another death. From the corner of your eye, you see that Connor has left the shooter and is observing the couple, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I am nothing without you.” The man declares this with the outmost devotion you’ve ever heard. He clutches the hand she just let sinking to the ground and brings it to his chest. “You brought me to life. I love you.” Her radiating smile doesn’t hide the fear and pain in her eyes. You don’t know the woman; you can’t name the reasons for her emotions. You can only guess. Fear of death? The pain of leaving her loved one behind?

“I ….” The last famous two words never leave her lips. The small hand on the man’s chest goes limp. The smile fades. And it’s the silence you hate the most. Judging by his behavior, you had expected the android to scream and rage. Not this eerie calm. Not this resigned but determined expression on his face.

“Please don’t do anything. I want this.” The man pleads, and he moves both of his hands to his chest. He slowly starts hitting himself and you reach out tentatively with one hand, before one resolute look from the man stops your action. Soft hits become violent blows and soon Thirium leaks from the wound. One hand digs into it and with one violent thrust, he removes a cylindrical plug. His LED is spinning red as he tenderly puts it into the woman’s hand, his body flagging.

“My heart. It has always been yours.” You can only stare at him, appalled and moved by his gesture. He literally gave her his heart. He rather dies then living without her. And once more, you cry. You pull your knees closer towards you and watch his LED go out. Your move your hand to close both of their eyes.

“Guess we found a deviant after all.” Not only does your voice shake, so does your body. The soft clicking of Connor’s dress shoes are the only noise that can be heard. You feel his comforting presence as he stands behind you, close enough so you could lean on him. You don’t see his face, so you don’t know his reaction or his thoughts concerning the heartbreaking scene you both just witnessed. A part of you is curious, but you don’t find the strength to move.

You really have to give Connor credit for staying here, without a word or an action, just waiting for you to get ready. It doesn’t take too long, barely a minute. You can’t and won’t afford to fall apart now.

With new determination, you rise and climb the stairs. You don’t spare the killer of the couple a glance. If there’s anything relevant or important about him, Connor will tell you.

Entering a crime scene always gives you a rush, and this time it’s no different, even if it is the second floor of a mansion, a broad balcony overlooking the ballroom. This is the place where maniacs ended a perfect evening with countless murders. You will do your best to solve this.

Looking through the moonlit windows, you think you’ve glimpsed a familiar shadow, but you just shake your head. You must get tired. Focusing back on the case, you turn towards Connor, who’s getting closer to the balustrade.

“Say Connor, is the interference still there?” you ask him, hoping that against all odds, you can finally call for backup and medical assistance. The android in question tilts his head and you see astonishment flitting over his features.

“Good call, detective.” Connor’s small praise lifts your spirits. “It is indeed gone. I’ll call the department immediately.” Why and how the inference is suddenly gone are questions you hope to find a question. Checking for evidence, you spot an object on the floor.

“Of course.” you mutter under your breath after realizing that these are heat vision goggles. You have to admit, they were prepared. Heat vision would allow the intruders to spot the androids, as they have a lower temperature than humans. You turn around to alert Connor when you see him kneeling down next to a small blue puddle.

While you’re not as unsettled by Connor’s method of analyzing as Hank is, the sight of Connor bringing his blue fingertips to his lips still sends a shiver down your spine. This is the second time tonight that Connor ingests blood. You’re more than relieved that his eyes have returned to their usual brown shade. Sooner or later, you’ll have to discuss this issue with Connor in more detail. But that’s not a problem for now.

“Victim or culprit?” you ask Connor, eager to get the lump out off your throat.

“I can’t tell. We need more evidence.” Connor says and after a small hand wave of yours, comes to you. Connor can pick up the goggles to analyze them; you can’t without leaving your fingerprints on them or even erasing traces. You hope that Connor works his android magic, as you fondly call his reconstruction skills, and finds a clue. But after a while he only puts them where you have found them, gives you a short shake of the head, and continues his search for evidence. Doing the same, you subtly glance at Connor multiple times, hoping that he’s having better luck than you. A kingdom for a CSI!

“How come they let this obvious piece of evidence behind but nothing else?” you groan, releasing your frustration into the world. “It’s as if they had only let this piece of evidence here to taunt us.” The goggles imply that it was the killer’s intention to be able to distinguish androids from humans and that this was a planned crime. Leaving evidence behind can also be a sign of pride and arrogance.

“Admittedly, there is a lack of evidence and I’m unable to find any further.”  A muscle in his jaw tenses and Connor does sound more tense than usual. A sign of irritation? “I agree with your suspicion that the goggles were left deliberately.”

You suppress a sigh. Until now, Connor has always managed to help solving the cases. Now it seems that even he has reached a limit.

“Let’s go back and wait for the backup.” you suggest and turn around. As you walk down the staircase, you look straight ahead, but still you flinch as you pass the dead couple. Sitting down on the first stair, you feel the cold marble beneath you and fix your gaze on the entry door. You notice Connor enter and leave your field of vision. Your gaze stays fixed. However, audible conversation forces you to turn your head towards the source of the noise.

You see Connor approaching, your coat and purse in his hands, followed by a distraught woman in white. Cordelia Lorde. She’s following him, desperately trying to get his attention, while Connor listens to her.

“Where is Cameron? Are the guests safe? Are the intruders gone?” Cordelia repeats these questions over and over again and you immediately rise to walk towards them. This woman is in shock, something you can comprehend. She needs reassurance.

“Don’t worry Ma’am, the police is on its way.” you say and feel Cordelia’s attention shifting towards you. Her gaze flies to your temple and it’s only now that you realize that you must have lost the fake LED this evening. You didn’t even notice. The woman falls into your arms and you feel the dampness on her cheek, still whispering the same questions in your ear.

This is the exact moment the Detroit police department decides to make their entrance, as one of most famous socialites clings to you as if you were a lifeline. Captain Fowler leads them, with Hank following closely behind. The sight of them unloosens some of the tension inside of you. They approach your little trio immediately. You don’t have much time to gather yourself.

“Good evening Ma’am, Captain Jeffrey Fowler, police department of Detroit.” Fowler introduces himself, extending a hand to the socialite who’s still hugging you. She slowly lets go off you and takes his hand. “We were notified that there has been an intrusion and several homicides.” As Cordelia starts retelling the events of this evening, you watch her stand upright, trying to entrance the Captain. Fowler, while giving her the attention she desires, steers the conversation, a smart move. Deviancy must remain secret. Cordelia Lorde mustn’t know the reason you and Connor were here in the first place. After leaving Cordelia Lorde in the care of Chris, Fowler comes back, his gaze pinned on you and Connor.

“You two – ” Fowler begins, “Jesus, you both look like crap. Connor you’re almost scaring me!” Hank exclaims, interrupting Fowler, who’s giving Hank side eyes. Your only answer to Hank’s statement is a weary shrug.

“Detective, you take some time off. That’s not a request but an order.” Fowler states firmly and you know deep down that fighting his decision is in vain. You’re aware that you must look horrible too, your dress a mess of blood stains, tears having ruined your makeup so that everyone can see the fatigue on your face.

“I understand Captain.” you say. Compliance seems to be the best and easiest road to take and judging by the Captain’s soft clap on your shoulder, he approves of it.

“Before you and Connor can leave, tell me your perspective of the evening.” Fowler demands and you feel as if a cold bucket of water is doused over you. It’s thanks to your investigation skills and quick reflexes that you school your features into a professional mask, so you don’t look like a deer caught in the headlights.

You inform Fowler about the evening, the realization that there were android doppelgangers among the guests and about the dance. Your can’t help but stumble on your words as you tell Fowler how Connor shielded you, giving the android an grateful look. You’ve realized that you haven’t thanked him yet. He’s been unusually quiet for now, intently listening to your retelling.

“In the ball room, you find a man, dressed as a knight, with my fingerprints on him. Sam.” Your voice breaks. “I comforted him in his last moments.” You would rather swallow your tongue than tell Fowler about Connor’s apparent vampirism. No one needs to know. It would only endanger Connor. Besides, you’re not lying, you’re just withholding irrelevant information, you tell yourself, before bracing yourself to tell the last encounter of the evening.      

“We’ve found a deviant, the male android lying next to the woman here on the stairs. I believe them to have been lovers. After she died, the android tore out his Thirium pump and put it in her hands, stating that his heart has always been hers. You’ll also find my fingerprints on her.”

“For god’s sake!” Hanks mutters under his breath. Fowler just lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“(Y/n). You know where to find the psychologist of the precinct right?” Fowler asks, not commenting on what you’ve said, and you give him a nod. You might want to consider a visit. Finally, you tell them about the balcony and the lack of evidence besides the heat vision goggles. You hope that Chris and the other police androids make better progress upstairs than you and Connor did.

“Connor, care to add something? Fowler addresses the silent android, who only gives him a short nod.

“No Captain. The detective has given an accurate report of the evening.” Connor states and you watch as his LED turn yellow. “There has been another case involving androids.”

“Of course there is.” Fowler grumbles. “All right, Connor and Hank take this case. You bring (Y/n) home and Connor will change, so people won’t run away from him.” They really should have seen him with red eyes, you muse. But yes, Hank and Fowler are right: one would be scared of Connor. “Dismissed.” Fowler sounds final and you head towards the door. The coldness hits as soon as you step outside but this time, you welcome it, the biting cold on your skin as you’re taking a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. You’re outside. Your body, if not your mind, can put some distance between you and the case.

“Connor, what makes you think that I want to work an android case now?” Hank barks at Connor, who’s unfazed by Hank’s reproach. “You just made me miss this one!”

“Well, I guess this case isn’t interesting anyway. A man found dead in a sex club down town. Guess they’ll have to solve the case without us.” Connor replies, teasing Hank and judging by the shimmer in the Lieutenant’s eyes, capturing his attention.

You’ve never felt happier at the sight of Hank’s gray car. Taking the front seat, you’re grateful for Hank’s music. The heavy metal drowns any thoughts and you can just zone out peacefully. You’ve noticed Hank’s concerned glances, but you just can’t give him any answer. The ride to your apartment is silent and you don’t mind.

You feet, aching from the time in heels walk the way to your apartment without you even noticing, Connor and Hank on your trail. The jangling of the keys are the only sound in the empty hallway. You enter and suddenly realize that this means the end of the investigation, at least for now, for you. It means goodbye from Connor.

The android in question is walking past you, heading towards his armchair where his regular clothes are folded neatly.

“Connor, you can go to the bathroom to change.” you suggest and he follows your instructions immediately. Now you’re alone with Hank, who’s eying you, his arms crossed, leaning against the front door.

You sigh and walk into your kitchen, taking your blue thermos jug to fill coffee into a mug.

“A drink before you go?” you offer the mug to Hank, who’s now sitting in a chair. He takes it and gives you a grateful nod.

“I’m sorry I can’t join the investigation with you.” you apologize to Hank, voicing the doubts that have been pestering you. Are you a bad detective for being so affected by the evening?

“Don’t worry. After what I’ve heard, you deserve some rest.” Hank’s gruff response takes away some of the weight off your shoulders. He takes a sip of the coffee.

“Be nice to Connor. He’s been through the same as I did.” Your request startles Hank, his eyebrows raised. You expect him to ramble how Connor is just a machine, but he stays silent, looking at the bathroom door instead. 

Connor walks out and all traces of the previous evening have vanished. His face is clean, he’s wearing his uniform, currently straightening his tie. You’re the only one in here who still looks and feels like a disaster.

“Thanks for the coffee, (Y/n).” Hank says and hands you the mug, his fingers brushing over yours, gently squeezing them. Hank sometimes struggles with expressing his emotions, so if he does, the happier you are. It’s nice to know that he has your back.

„Let’s get going.“ Hanks says and walks out off the door. “We have a case to solve.”

Connor seems to hover, unsure what to do, before looking at you with a determined expression on his face. He paces towards you and takes your hand. Your heart speeds up and blood rushes into your face.

“(Y/n). I hope it can comfort you as much as it helps me. You may use it when you’re feeling bored or sad.” Connor explains, his brown eyes having a kind glint, and you suddenly feel something cool in your hand. His coin. Connor has just given you his coin. How many times have you seen him playing with it? It’s no doubt his dearest possession and he just gave it to you. To cheer you up. To make you feel better.

“Thank you so much Connor, I know how much you enjoy your coin.” Your voice quavers a little, quavering like the air around you. It may sound weird, but you can feel the relationship between you and Connor quaver and shift. “I’ll think of you when I’m holding it in my hands.”

You watch Connor leave your apartment too, the cold coin warming your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long, but here it is: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All your nice comments really cheer me up and motivate me, so please, keep them going. Tell me your thoughts about this chapter :) Next chapter will be something else, so stay tuned.


End file.
